


Holy Basil and Wolfsbane

by theblindtorpedo



Category: Spirou et Fantasio
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Drama, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, Wizards and Werewolves ayyyy baby!, bUT THEYRE OF AGE FYI, but not heavy angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27893644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblindtorpedo/pseuds/theblindtorpedo
Summary: Fantasio may be the top teacher at Dupuis Academy for Mages, but that won't stop him from working under the radar on personal projects of dubious legality. It's all in Spirou's best interest. At least that's what he says to help him sleep at night.
Relationships: Fantasio/Spirou
Kudos: 6





	Holy Basil and Wolfsbane

**Author's Note:**

> just as a heads up i havent actually.... written any of the werewolf bits yet so if thats why youre here sorry to dissapoint, but maybe give this a read and leave a comment, readers are what motivate me to keep writing! anyways, enjoy!

Spirou wonders if the others notice or if it is just his position as Fantasio’s assistant that makes the cracks in the facade obvious. Fantasio, charismatic head of the Charms Department at Dupuis Academy for Mages, his blue cloak is always pristine, his incantations dazzling, his eyes luminous with unmistakable golden power that courses through him. Currently he leans against the wall gesturing wildly about something or other while Prunelle listens with reserved folded arms. This is an everyday scene, almost mundane, except Spirou is searching and, aha, there they are: miniscule black wisps that swirl around Fantasio’s head like Lebrac’s inks (and the ponytailed man in charge of Sigils, Rune and Diagram Construction electives only uses the purest of pigments). Spirou grits his teeth, strides forward to seize Fantasio by the elbow and haul him away, earning him a glare. There’s the darkness again, Fantasio’s eyes blink black, sudden piercing void, and then they are back to their customary light blue. The same ones that had seduced Spirou so long ago, lured him in as Fantasio’s partner in mind and body.

“It appears I am needed,” he winks at Prunelle, who groans, waves them away. Spirou pulls Fantasio down the hallway, spots an empty classroom and shoves Fantasio inside while he casts a quick deafening spell in case anyone were to walk by.

“You cannot keep doing this,” Spirou hisses, backed up against the door as Fantasio has already grabbed his hips and started nuzzling into his neck.

“Doing what?” Fantasio grins against his jaw, opens his mouth to kiss or bite Spirou won’t know as he shoves the older man away.

“Prunelle isn’t stupid!”

“Relax. I’ve got it under control.”

“Have you? Really? Because it looked a lot to me back there like you didn’t.”

“So there was a temporary lapse in the binding spells. When I get home I’ll strengthen them. Happy?”

Spirou isn’t happy.

“There has to be . . . there has to be something else you can study, something else you can do your research on that isn’t black magic . . .”

“Spirou.” The older man is annoyed now, all traces of amorous intent wiped away by a glower only accentuated by the shadows of the room. “This has nothing to do with research, you think I care what those straight edged sorcerers at the Incantation Library think of me? I’m close to something great, something amazing, something that will make Fantasio a household name!”

“You don’t need that!” he pleads. “Not if it means hurting yourself.“  _ Hurting me. _

“Oh, so easy for you to say. Spirou, everyone already knows him, the brightest mage of your generation. Natural talent. Well some of us can’t rely on being born with above average magical circuits to get places in life.”

“Fantasio-” He is interrupted by the older man kicking the door open, wood swinging from under him, he just manages to grab the frame to keep from falling as Fantasio pushes past him.

“I have a class to teach. Be a good boy and grade their last papers for me will you? Thanks.”

* * *

The school day is over, almost all have gone home, but Fantasio stays, instead making the pilgrimage to the depths of the building. The basement is dim, candles flicker haphazardly about, and Fantasio scoffs at the pretense of it all. They are modern mages and by rights should be using electricity, even down here. A figure approaches, scrapes its feet along the stones like a homunculus still learning to walk. Fantasio greets it.

“Cousin.”

A lantern swings into his face, blinding with its sudden light.

“What news of the aboveground?” the Head of Artifact Storage sneers. Fantasio knows what Zantafio does in the catacombs, how he pockets the more esoteric items, that the black markets of Belgium and beyond can rely on a steady stream from the Dupuis Academy for Mages' collections (that Zantafio entices the more morally corrupt students as couriers), for the right price. They all know. For once Fantasio is blessed by bureaucracy that could not fire the disgraced Dark Arts teacher, lest the scandal of Zantafio’s unconventional teaching practices come to light. Instead the school had put out a pithy press release that Zantafio had been reassigned from faculty to supportive staff, swerving away from any repercussions for hiring a scoundrel to begin with.

“It’s all the same. During a study session Gaston turned Jeanne into a cat for a demonstration and now she’s run away. They’re turning the place upside-down looking for her. Prunelle is furious.”

“If he doesn’t want trouble he should get himself a better teacher’s assistant.”

“He won’t. Gaston’s still the best Transfiguration student there is although I’m sure he hasn’t read a textbook in his life. It’s infuriating really. Kids these days just DO magic they don’t UNDERSTAND it.”

“And isn’t that the problem, no matter how hard we work there’s always someone better. Speaking of, how’s your boy? Is he good to you?” Zantafio raises an eyebrow salaciously.

“Spirou is fine. And I don’t appreciate your insinuations.”

“I only speak truths, cousin. If not me, who else will tell them, it gives me great pleasure to do so. But as you know my truths come with a cost.”

Fantasio reaches inside his robes, fishes out a parcel wrapped in brown paper, and hands it over. Zantafio unwraps it delicately, holds the plants and mushrooms inside up to his lantern to examine them, smells them, even licks one.

“Is this all you could get?”

“Ingrate! It’s not easy stealing from the Count you know! Why don’t you go out and get potions ingredients yourself since apparently you have nothing better to do all day except lurk and disparage my personal life.”

A targeted insult. The magical wards are a prison: despite all efforts Zantafio is not stronger than the council that decreed he could never leave the building. Zantafio hisses, but decides to play nice, only throwing a small jab to save face. “But Fantasio as much as indoctrinating you to dark magic brings me immense personal joy, it’s no fun if I don’t make you run in circles to do it. I hope you've healed enough since last time. The objects I have for you today are. . . quite nasty.”

They sit for hours, late into the night, a weekly ritual. They test Fantasio’s tolerance, Zantafio bring him various cursed items, has himh old them as long as he can until they burn his skin. Spirou had asked about the scarring once, at the beginning of his incessant investigation that Fantasio uses all his energy to thwart, for if Spirou understood his plans he would surely refuse to take part. Fantasio hadn’t lied, but he hadn’t been truthful either. For certain if he pulled this off he would be famous, but there were other reasons he craved a mastery and understanding of curses.

He wears gloves everywhere now to hide burns from his practice, takes them off only when they make love and Spirou is too far gone to notice, and isn’t that a quaint metaphor, that he can only expose his crimes during passion. Fantasio knows he is working on borrowed time.  


**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on [Tumblr](www.augustinremi.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](www.twitter.com/seccotines). Peace.


End file.
